The Vampire Naruto
by Glistening.Horizon
Summary: Naruto is an old vampire changed by Jiraiya. He is now a rock singer, planning to expose the vampire world to the humans out of pure boredom. When the covens come for him, will he survive? NaruHina


**Prologue**

I am the Vampire Naruto. I have lived more lifetimes than I can count on two hands, I have killed more of you than I can recall, I have seen more moons than the universe can offer to the vision of a telescope. The sun may kill me, wooden stakes may kill me, holy water may burn me. Then again, they might not. I still exist in your world, lurking in the darkest corners of your society. I still feed on your blood indiscriminately, and I still relish in the kill as if it were my first time.

I was a human once—But that was eons ago. I offer you here within these pages a look at the truth. My child, Gaara, was more praising of me than I expected. He was a sullen, forlorn, lonely human being—When he became a vampire, as all who become a vampire do, he more fully became himself. That individual was one who treaded gently, spoke only when he saw words as necessary, loved more passionately, hunted as a natural predator would. Gaara was perhaps my finest creation besides my mother, Kushina.

It is safe to say that I was astonished to see Gaara's account of his life published by humans. He was always so furtive that he was the last person I expected to breach the unwritten code—We are never to reveal our own kind to humans. And yet he did it without scruples. However, I can understand the impulse to act so recklessly—Eternity does wear on us, after all.

When I entered my father's coffin in his stately mausoleum (Purchased by yours truly), I was wearied by the affairs of my brethren, of the humans. I was tired of watching all I loved die before my eyes. Eternity sounded quite preferable to such a paltry existence when I first learned of my opportunity, but then I realized I would be spending it alone. After that, it grew rather disappointing to me. So in nineteen-oh-two, I went into the coffin. I waited there, hoping a sort of death would come over me. For one-hundred years, I waited, starving, my heart still plangent in my ears, much to my dissatisfaction.

Then I heard it. A primal drumming, a dark, rhythmic, and erotic electric guitar, and a haunting, innocent keyboard were all playing in perfect harmony, right in my old house. The nerve of them brought a smile to my lips, and as I listened, I realized how unlike the music of my time it was. It was eldritch and potent in my ears, contrary to the dainty orchestral music of my day. It was like primordial instinct captivated perfectly by instruments. I had a love of it the moment it drowned me in its power.

I pushed aside the weighty coffin lid, agitated that it took such an effort to accomplish. My muscles throbbed and seared as I pulled myself into a sedentary position, panting. A grin slowly stretched across my face, and I hoisted myself from the coffin. Glancing down at my father's bones for a trice (That was all they deserved from my eternity), I spat upon them. I pushed the lid back over the skeleton, pulling my tattered cloak over my chest. The former finery of my clothing had faded into cobwebbed but intact cloth. I stared at them in distaste. When I had first procured them, they had been so colorful and fitting of me.

Before I went to see this trio, I knew two things. I needed new clothes, and I needed blood. Humans no longer traveled alone, as I found. They were always in groups; they were never alone. New Gods had risen—Gods who showed up on moving, speaking screens. Gods who played music, advertised goods, and shouted adages at the public. All I knew was this: I wanted to become one of these Gods. I always loved the limelight, after all.

I arrived upon the wharfs, my old violin in hand. I wandered amongst the crowd of oddly-dressed mortals, eyes lingering upon each of their necks. Well, tonight I couldn't be picky, could I? Blood was blood, after all; warm, succulent, crimson, _blood_. I pulled a man aside, not bothering to speak. My violin clattered to the ground, but the sound was distant to my ears. There was only my prey before me. I pushed his dreadlocks aside with my ringed fingers, eyes flicking from his face to the supple flesh of his throat. I leaned closer, and then I sealed his fate.

My fangs in their desperation tore through the resistance of flesh, savagely trying to gulp down more blood. _More, more, more! _A coppery scent met my nostrils, and, aroused, my fangs sank even deeper into his neck. A surge of blood trickled down my throat. _MORE! _Dancing, pain, fire, guitars, impure vocals—Throaty screams into microphones as the beat pounded on and the guitar strummed aggressively, people with piercings, smoke in the air, love in the eyes, an injection of a discolored liquid into the vein. I dropped his husk, licking my ruby-red lips, savoring the last drops of a stranger's life.

I collected my violin from the ground, examining it for any injury. None. I smiled. My victim's gaudy garb was distasteful to me. A baggy jacket, a sweat-dampened shirt with stray hairs stuck to the cloth. Instead, I could only hope that a shopowner might oblige me. I strolled along the boulevard of Konoha, recalling with fond memory my discovery of Gaara in these parts. He had originated from Suna, and his time there had given him a lingering Suna accent, which, ultimately, had been the first trait of his to draw my intrigue.

I halted at a storefront. In this gilded age of leather clothing, flashy, studded belts, mockeries of times long since past, I planned to create a new standard. Dominating this age, with all my vampiric advantage, would be child's play. I stared at the locked door for a moment. Unlock. The door was pulled straight out of its frame, smashing upon impact with the ground. The glass of it shattered, shards scattering across the ground. I stepped into the store, eyes surveying my plethora of options.

When I emerged from the store, violin and bow in my hands, I was more than ready to meet this dazzling new age. I took another snack, shaved the blood-streaked stubble from my visage, and returned to my old home. Its dilapidated façade struck me first; the vines crawling across the windows, its hunched-over posture, the boarded up doors. It was all very surreal to my blurred vision. I wiped away my brackish tears. I flexed my hands around my violin and bow experimentally. I fortified my decision, entering the mansion, following the harmony of what these mortals called, "rock and roll."

I entered the room, scanning the makers of such music. They were like their counterparts on the wharf in their manner of dressing, but in hair and piercings much more sensible. I raised my violin to my chin, angling my bow over its strings. I joined their song, playing more sophisticated chords, competing with the guitarists, two males. They noticed me there, and with narrowed eyes they responded to my challenge. The clash of our music bridged together two distinct ages. I simpered, raising my eyes to them as I played even faster. The guitarists increased their tempo, taking a higher-pitched tune. I lowered the pitch of my violin. Finally, I stopped, lowering my violin.

I deposited on top of the, "amp." Stroking the length of my bow, I sauntered across the room. I smiled, revealing my fangs.

"Bravo," I spoke. One of the guitar players, a flabby twenty-something year old, reached for a bag of chips. The blond-haired keyboard player, a tall, voluptuous woman, took a moment to appreciate my appearance. I already knew I was a gorgeous fiend—I did not even need to breach her mind to hear her appraisal.

"Who are you?" asked the pineapple-haired lead guitarist, attaching a wary tone to the question. Right that he should be wary in the presence of a predator, I thought. In one sentence, I thought to shatter the ancient code just as Gaara had:

"I am…the Vampire Naruto." An upward curl of Pineapple-Head's lip.

"Vampire? Please." I flashed towards him. I halted right in front of him, stroking his jaw with my bow. I tapped his neck twice as I began to back away, smiling. He gulped.

"What do you want?" asked the fat one between the crunching of chips in his mouth.

"Me?" I asked innocently. I absentmindedly ran my fingers down the length of my bow. "I want to make your dream a reality."

"And what dream is that?" retorted Pineapple-Head.

"To become Gods…of rock n' roll." They gave one another a look. Pineapple-Head nodded.

"We'll do it."

"I thought you'd say that," I grinned. "What are your names?"

"I'm Shikamaru, that fatass is Chouji, and that's Ino."

"It'll be a pleasure to work with you all," I replied.


End file.
